


Poppet

by Minxie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: FEST: Summer of Slaves (2013), KINK: Slavery, KINK: whipping, Kink: non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memory of a moment lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poppet

**Author's Note:**

> **Author/Artist:** **Prompt:** #12, requested by . Harry is captured and Lucius gets him as a slave. He takes out his frustrations. Harry fights back with everything he has.  
>  **Contains:** non-con, bondage, discipline/whipping (or, you know, torture), and I'm sure there're laws somewhere against my implied use of a house-elf  
>  **Notes:** Mad love to @shinyredrain and @aislinntlc for putting up with my fandom manic brain and beta reading whatever I send to them. Written for the [2013 HP Owned Summer of Slaves fest.](http://hp-owned.livejournal.com/13244.html) Hope this hits some of what you were looking for, @melusinahp.

Thanks to an unexpected collision with one of my Lord's brighter Death Eaters, Harry Potter finally found himself without his vaunted luck. A day spent with my Lord and then the boy was turned over to me. As a plaything for a finite period of time.

A reward. A dare. A test of my loyalties. I do not know which.

Nor do I care.

For the next month the boy will be under my thrall. The only guarantee is that he will not leave the manor in the same condition he arrived.

Pushing the door open, I cross the threshold into one of the lesser bedrooms and point my wand at the fireplace, raising the flames until the room warms to a temperature more suited to my tastes. The orange glow of firelight dances over the boy on the bed, highlighting each dip and valley of his body, every bruise and scrape marring his skin.

I cannot wait to add my personal touch to the streaks of red and purple decorating the boy's body.

Dragging a finger gently down his cheek, I whisper, " _Rennervate._ "

He comes awake instantly. In a matter of seconds, the emotions in his eyes roll from confusion to understanding to fervent hatred. One would think, after his years under Severus' tutelage, he would no longer wear his heart on his sleeve.

I cannot help but find him intriguing, with his eyes full of fire and venom. He's a complex creature, at times more Slytherin than the Dark Lord himself, and yet, at others, consumed with Gryffindor idiocy.

Ever the consummate host, I walk to the bath and return with a glass of water. With a whispered word, the buckles loosen and the gag filling his mouth falls free. "Thirsty?"

He jerks against his bindings, finding no measure of freedom. His ability to throw off Imperius obviously does not extend to a simple binding hex."I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy, but…"

Frowning, I snap, " _Silencio._ "

His shocked outrage is worth the bout of raucous histrionics. "Again, are you thirsty?"

He presses his lips together and looks away from me.

"Very well." I set the glass on the bedside table. Well within his reach, should I decide to release the bonds locking his arms behind his back, and yet, taunting and teasing him with relief until I feel the desire to do so. "Let us begin with your new status, shall we? For the foreseeable future, you will be my guest."

The look my comment garners is both amusing and telling. The boy is nowhere near as sheltered or innocent as he first appears to be. He does not yet know that I am more interested in breaking his spirit than I am breaking his body. Unfortunately for him, I will use one to achieve the other.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I crowd into his limited personal space and place my palm flat against his chest, directly over the heavy thud of his heartbeat. "Your training will begin tomorrow."

His heartbeat doubles in speed, the rapid thumping the first indication of the fear he is feeling.

"In what, you ask?" The question draws another glare from him. I smirk in return. "Your specific position within this house is whatever I deem it to be at the time. We'll use the generic description of pet for now."

Again, he turns away from me.

"Now, for the finer points." I lick my lips, anticipating the reaction my demands will bring. "Your attire is at my discretion. As such, beginning now, you are to be nude at all times."

He winces as my magic dances over him. Despite his arrogance, the boy is smart enough to be wary.

A full sixty seconds tick off before he realizes he is nude, that his clothing – oversized Muggle denims and Henley – lay around him tatters. He cants his hips, drawing his knees in towards his body. His efforts for modesty are futile but amusing. I tsk twice and, when there is no progress towards him relaxing his legs, say, "No hiding your wares from me, poppet."

Ignoring the renewed glare, I focus instead on the flush of his skin, the fine sheen of sweat and goose pimples decorating his flesh that rise as he lowers his legs. The tangible effects of the humiliation he is suffering are much more enticing than the sight of his flaccid cock.

"Oh, pretty little poppet," I chuckle softly. "Breaking you is going to be a delight."

Ξ ψ Ξ

"I hate you."

It's the first thing he utters – _whispers_ – when I remove the silencing hex; had I released his arms, I am sure he would have advanced with a physical attack. Arching a brow, I take a sip of my finest brandy. "Fortunately, your position does not require anything more from either of us."

Setting the snifter to the side, I cut into the meal before me, offering him a bite from my fork.

Despite the grumbling of his stomach, he turns away. What was amusing at first has become annoying. I am on the verge of freezing him in place, forcing him to look at me for the duration of our time together.

"Do not believe you can starve yourself to death." I take another bite and hum. The steak is cooked to perfection. "I will simply force potions down your throat until you lower yourself to take my offerings of food and wine."

He glances at the plate and then looks me in the eye. "Accustomed to plying your whores with liquor before you fuck them, are you?"

"At least you are beginning to understand the truth of your predicament." I cut another piece of steak. His stomach gurgles again as his eyes follow the fork to my mouth. I wonder how long it will be until he accepts the food that I offer. "Following supper, a house-elf will be in to attend you."

He blanches, pale and then with a hint of green.

"Not to, as you so crudely said, fuck you." I almost chuckle at the relief that flitters across his face. I file the information for later. Based on his reaction, using the creatures against him will make for an appropriate punishment. I am sure my Lord will find it appropriately debasing. "Your personal ablutions need to be seen to, and not all of them can be handled with magic. There is just something a shaving charm lacks when compared to the smooth skin left behind from a steel blade."

He's fighting against closing his legs. The muscles tremble with the strain of being held taut. Raising his head, he says, "You'll never get away with this."

"You are here, are you not?" I dab the corners of my mouth with a napkin and push the tray to the side. "I tire of your mouth. Tread carefully or I will find another use for it, poppet."

"Stop calling me that! My name is Harry Potter. Damn well not pet or boy or poppet."

"You are whatever I decide you to be." I push out of my chair and lean over him. " _Poppet_."

His face contorts into mask filled with loathing. A wad of saliva and snot lands solidly on my cheek.

"Punishment earned." I turn away from him and snap my fingers. When the house-elf appears, I say, "Remove the tray and return with the strop and blade."

After the house-elf vanishes, I say, "Fight him and he will fall under the weight of a punishment."

"Bastard," he hisses at me. "You're an absolute bastard."

"So I've been told before." I hold out my hand and call my whip to me. I shake out the leather and, snapping my wrist, send it cracking through the air. "Care to add more to your punishment…" and because he hates it so, I add, "poppet?"

Ξ ψ Ξ

Chains are holding him in place, a perfect figure x without the benefit of a cross. His back is to the room, the mirror he is facing reflects his distress, his mortification.

The self-restraint he employs while the house-elf scraps the blade over his groin and, once the creature spreads him open with knobby fingers, into the cleft of his arse, is impressive. It is now, in this moment, when I can see why there are those who believe he will defeat the Dark Lord.

He's too obstinate to do any less.

Having him now bending to my will, knowing he will bend, more literally, to my cock, evokes an emotion I thought long since repressed, trampled out in the days before the Dark Lord arranged my release from Azkaban: haughty arrogance.

The return of the Malfoy conceit is thrilling.

"Oil, Master?"

I look down at the creature and shake my head. "Leave it when you go. I will see to my guest's needs."

It nods and, scooping up the equipment, leaves me to my prize.

I step into place behind him, the whip dangling from my fingers, and say, "What do you say? Twenty?"

For the first time since reviving him, I see trepidation in his eyes. The boy really is smarter than Severus gives him credit for.

Swirling the whip through the air, I let it fall across his back with a hard pull of my wrist. The skin splits immediately. I wait until he breathes through the pain and meets my gaze in the mirror, eyes shining with hatred and fear and the beginnings of tears. When I'm sure he's focused on me, I say, "One."

Ξ ψ Ξ

His face is damp with the remnants of his tears, all given over silently. They are not enough.

I want his screams.

"Perhaps," I whisper, my lips ghosting over his ear, "since my whip did not break the tight hold of your silence, my cock will." I drop the zip on my trousers and, swiping my hand through the blood and sweat streaking his back, push a slick finger into his arse. It is all the prep I'm willing to give. Had he given voice to the damage I've inflicted upon him with my whip, perhaps I would have used the oil.

Then again, perhaps not.

Lining my cock up to his hole, I ask, "Ready to scream for me?"

He grunts at the rough penetration, his arse tightens down on my cock. Voice breaking on the words, he grounds out, "I'd rather swallow my tongue first."

Digging my fingers into his hips, I slam into his arse. His arms pull and stretch with the force of the motions as he sways between the chains. His face is contorted, his eyes glazing over with each thrust of my hips. And he still refuses to give voice to his pain.

Breaking him is going to take longer than I anticipated. I'm looking forward to every second of it.

My orgasm catches me unaware, my mind given over to thoughts of him on his knees and begging for relief. I still, holding him flush against my groin as my cock empties.

I pull out and, tucking my cock back into my trousers, I step around him. His cock is still flaccid, hanging uninterested between his legs. "Next time," I murmur. Next time I will force him to orgasm, shame him into physical enjoyment. Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head higher, stare into his eyes. "I _will_ break you. Mark my words on that."

"And I'm going to kill you," he spits, come and blood trailing over his thighs. "Just like I'm going to put down that snake-faced master of yours."

I am tempted to allow him his escape just so I can witness the final battle. I have twenty-nine days before the Dark Lord will come looking for his prize. Perhaps on day twenty-eight…

Trailing a hand over his chest, I pinch one of his nipples and say, "Even if that proves to be our destiny, the memory of a moment lives forever. The burn of my whip and the tear of my cock will shadow your days and torment your nights until you find your way to me in the afterlife."

He jerks against the chains, lunging towards me only to be stopped short of his goal.

Watching his display, I cannot help but smirk. Then, with a huff of breathy laughter, I tell him, "There is nothing you can do to escape it. I own your soul now… _poppet_."

Ξ ψ Ξ ψ Ξ


End file.
